


The strongest souls

by stardust009



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Comfort, Friendship, Hurt, Injury, M/M, body image issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-06-12
Packaged: 2018-01-25 14:42:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1652378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardust009/pseuds/stardust009
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aramis gets injured and he's left with prominent facial scars - the kind he can't really pass up as consequences of romantic soldiery exploits, as he does with the rest of his scars. He struggles to cope with the stares and the support from his friends just makes him feel more isolated.</p><p>Written for kink prompt</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt - "Somehow Aramis gets injured in a way that leaves him with prominent facial scars - the kind he can't really pass up as consequences of romantic soldiery exploits, as we've seen him do with the rest of his scars. 
> 
> I'd love a fic exploring his reactions and how he learns to cope with his new circumstances. The awkwardness of being in public, imagining that everyone is looking at him. Or maybe he finds people's sympathy irritating and gradually becomes more and more isolated. Or if you go the relationship way, maybe he feels really insecure, wondering whether his lover really wants him anymore. 
> 
> Anon likes Porthos/Aramis as a pairing, but anything goes really. Just a realistic take on Aramis dealing with a serious, visible injury, and the others being as supportive as possible."
> 
> \--------------------------------------------------
> 
> “Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars.” - Kahlil Gibran
> 
> \--------------------------------------------------
> 
> Warning - The fic will deal with someone coming to terms with having serious facial scars. Whilst I promise a happy ending if you're sensitive to this sort of thing please be careful when you're reading.

The scream was muffled by the panicked shouts of those outside trying to help. The heat of the fire and the billowing smoke pouring out of the windows was hindering the efforts but buckets were being passed and water flung , only it seemed to do nothing more than sizzle and disappear the moment it touched fierce flames. He coughed as his lungs tried to find some clean air in the smog. He heard his name being yelled but soon everything was lost in the silence of the blazing hallway. He could only hear the cracking fire and the eerie creaks of the dying house but he forced his burning lungs to keep going until he heard a scream again. It was female and clearly distressed. He held his gloved hand in front of his mouth in a vain attempt to keep the smoke out but it made little difference as he ran towards the sound of the screams. He made it down the end of the corridor and was about to scramble up the stairs when the creaks turned to loud groans and then a crack. He looked up and saw the ceiling fall and that’s when darkness came over him and Aramis woke up.

Sitting up in bed, his heaving chest covered in sweat which felt cold against the chilled night air, Aramis tried to bring himself round from the nightmare. It was just a dream, he told himself in his own head over and over until the familiarity of the dark room settled him. His hand slowly let go of the bed sheet which he had been gripping onto and he lifted it to his face. It was just a dream, he said again wondering and hoping. When his fingers touched his temple he ran them slowly down his skin and a sick feeling started to rise on his stomach. What had once been smooth skin covering his temple and cheek felt rough and sore. He dropped his hand and sighed. It wasn’t a dream. Every time he woke up from the same nightmare he allowed himself a few seconds of hope before his fingers reminded him. The nightmares were one thing but every time he woke up he found himself still in one. He had survived but he had suffered burns to his face. He had scars and he was ugly and he couldn’t stand to even look at himself. Aramis lay back down onto the bed and curled up onto his side. He let a tear escape his eye and roll down his damaged face onto the pillow before falling back into a fitful sleep.

Birds were singing their morning tune outside the window and sunlight was piercing through the glass but it wasn’t either of those things which woke him up. It was the door opening and loud footsteps coming into his room followed by a gruff but familiar voice.

“Are you getting up today?” Aramis squinted and made out the form of his friend Porthos standing in his room. Usually the sight of Porthos made his stomach do flips but, recently, it made his stomach sink. Things had been different between the two of them since Aramis had been injured. Aramis sighed and rolled over in the bed away from his friend, turning his back to Porthos meant that he wouldn’t have to face the day yet.

“Oh come on,” came the voice again. “You know we’ve got a duty at the palace today. Don’t make me drag you out of bed.”

He had actually forgotten and remembering that only made the sickening feeling creeping up in his stomach even worse. He felt queasy at the thought of being on show, in front of the Queen no less. Beautiful Anne. What would she think when she saw him? Would she stare? Or would she politely pretend to not notice? Aramis wasn’t sure which he thought would be worse, her seeing his scars or her pretending not to see him at all. The thought of it all made something inside his chest ache. She’d look at him like the others did, with pity and sympathy. Now his body hurt all over, emotions threatening to tumble out but being contained by some strength which Aramis was becoming all too familiar with. A side of his personality that he was starting to despise because what he really wanted to do was scream and sob at how unfair life was but he didn’t because he had to protect the others.

“Aramis,” Porthos sighed, his voice becoming softer. “Treville won’t let you stay in your room again. You’re well enough to perform your duties now.” The older man came closer and perched on the edge of the bed. Aramis felt the bed tilt slightly and he wanted to shove the man away but he didn’t even have the energy to move. “Come on. Get up,” Porthos softly encouraged, all too gentle for a man built for battle.

“I’ll get up,” Aramis eventually responded although his voice was barely audible. He hadn’t meant to sound quite so weak. He wanted to sound more convincing to make Porthos leave the room. There was silence before a warm hand reached out and gentle fingers were soon in his tangled curls, stroking slowly, just the way Aramis liked it.

“I know this is difficult for you,” Porthos said gently. Damn it, Porthos, Aramis thought, don’t make me crumble. “But I’m here for you. We all are.” You are but it’s different, he thought. You look at me with compassion, not lust. His eyes stung and he could feel them welling up. No, he wouldn’t cry, not in front of Porthos. And yet holding back the tears meant that he had to turn to another emotion to control them instead. Anger.

“You have no-idea what any of this is like for me!” he hissed as he pushed himself up. He hadn’t meant to snap. He really hadn’t meant to. He was looking at Porthos now who had flinched at the words. Please I’m sorry, he said in his head, I didn’t mean to shout. But he couldn’t say any of it out loud. Porthos seemed to know though and he reached out to cup Aramis’ face but the action immediately made Aramis turn away. He didn’t want Porthos to touch him there, not his face. Porthos looked defeated at the reaction and slowly lowered his hand.

“I’ll wait for you down at the stables then,” Porthos said, his voice so painfully sad that Aramis almost broke. Porthos got off the bed and went outside, closing the door lightly behind himself.

“Don’t leave,” Aramis whispered once the door had shut.

\--------------------------------

Not wanting to let everybody down Aramis had forced himself to get out of bed and get dressed. He had played around with his hat for so long that he knew Athos would be mad at him for making them late but he had to do it one more time, adjust the hat in way that would hide as much of his burnt face as he could. Only he knew it was futile. The burns stretched from his hair right down to his chin along the side of his face. There was nothing that could hide it. So he eventually let go of his hat and took a deep breath as he stood beside his door.

“Lord, please give me the strength to be brave. Lord, please stop people from staring,” he whispered before opening the door and walking out. He marched down to the garrison with the confidence of his old self at first but, the moment he came across another Musketeer who couldn’t take his eyes off him as he walked past, that confidence was burst. Aramis wanted to go back into his room but he told himself to stop acting like a child. He didn’t want to be kicked out of the Musketeers. He needed to perform his duties.

Porthos nodded and smiled when Aramis arrived at the stables and, surprisingly, Athos didn’t seem very upset. Or, if he was, he did a very good job of hiding it. In fact Aramis was rather convinced that he even saw a welcoming smile on Athos’ face, a smile only beaten by the beam on the face of d’Artagnan. Clearly the boy wasn’t as able to be diplomatic about Aramis’ return to duty as the others were. Aramis didn’t mind. In fact he rather appreciated it. There were even moments on the ride over to the palace when he forgot about his face. D’Artagnan was filling him in on what happened when they had tried to remove a rather annoyed cook who had been fired by the King for his failed attempt at cooking a pheasant. Aramis felt sad to have missed Porthos being hit with a serving spoon but, all too soon, they were at the palace and Aramis suddenly felt very conscious of everything again.

When they stood on parade he was utterly convinced that people were looking at him. Each time his eyes turned to look at someone he caught them staring at him before they suddenly looked away. He could feel his cheeks starting to blush in embarrassment. The blushing seemed to make his healing skin feel hot. But he stood straight and tall, not wanting to waver whilst on parade. That was until the King and Queen were scheduled to arrive.  He couldn’t bear to see how Anne would react when she saw his scars for the first time. He wouldn’t be-able to stomach any shock and disappointed in her face. So he didn’t make eye contact with her at all for the entire day. He just stared at the trees across the field until the trees went blurry and his neck grew sore. That was when he started to feel dizzy and sway. He wobbled about unsteady on his feet until a strong hand grabbed his arm and held him up.

“Don’t faint on me,” Athos whispered and Aramis tried to stay on his feet but his eyes were darting around again. Anne’s handmaidens were giggling behind their hands, they must have been laughing at him. One of the female guests was tutting, she must be disgusted at the sight of his face. The Cardinal was talking to the King and looked smug, obviously pleased that one of the handsome Musketeers was now a monster. Aramis even caught Treville looking at him and could see the pity. Eyes everywhere on him, staring at him, pitying him, laughing at him, disgusted by him. They wouldn’t stop looking. His face hurt. His face was burning. The fire, he could feel it, his skin was peeling off again. It hurt so much that Aramis gasped and stumbled backwards.

“Aramis,” came the voice of Athos again and another reassuring grip but Aramis shook it off.

“I can’t do this,” he said before turning around and running.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rather drunk Aramis confronts Captain Treville.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [It seems I'm a not-so-secret Treville fan because he appears in everything I write.]

Back in the sanctuary which his room had become, Aramis immediately hung up his hat and undid the buckles of his belts. He felt restricted by his clothes and weapons suddenly and he needed to get them off. His fingers worked frantically until he was down to his shirt and breeches. He hadn’t realised how fast his breathing had become until he felt the pins and needles in his hands. He stood there and tried to calm down, slowing his breathing until it was normal once more. His eyes were drawn to his wooden rosary which he had hanging around his Virgin Mary statue on a small shelf. Porthos had brought him the statue a couple of years before, around the time when their relationship had developed from a friendship into something more. Aramis walked over and took off the rosary, he fell to his knees beside his bed and started saying his prayers. He needed peace and it was the only place he knew where to get it from. So he repeated the words his mother and the church taught him, fingering the familiar beads in his hand until he felt composed once more.

He wasn’t aware of how long he prayed for but, once he stopped, his knees ached. He was surprised to find himself still alone in the room. Neither Athos or Treville had come to chastise him. Why hadn’t they? If a Musketeer abandoned their duty there would always be repercussions. It made Aramis feel angry that they were treating him differently. He felt the urge to confront Treville but the thought of leaving the room and being stared at again was too overwhelming. Then he remembered about the wine underneath his bed. The wine he had confiscated from Athos once. Not that it did any good, Athos was like a bloodhound when it came to hunting down wine. Aramis reached for a bottle and pulled out the cork with his teeth and he drank on his bed. He didn’t stop drinking until his belly felt full and the bottle was empty. Then he grabbed a second bottle and only made it half-way down before he was too exhausted to drink anymore. The wine hadn’t taken away anything, why did it always work for Athos? And yet, when Aramis tried to stand, he found that the room was moving. Or was it him? He staggered over to his coat and, after finding that the arm-holes weren’t where he thought they were, he eventually got it on. He also placed his hat on his head. With a bottle of wine as a substitute for confidence, he left his room and went off to Treville’s office.

Only once he reached the door of the office he felt stupid. Treville was probably still at the palace. What time was it anyway? He was about to knock when he heard a voice coming from behind him. It made him jump. He turned his head to see a confused looking Treville walking along the balcony.

“Aramis?” he asked, looked concerned. Aramis almost stumbled over as he tried to turn around. Treville immediately stepped forward with a hand to steady the Musketeer. He looked Aramis up and down and could quite possibly smell the wine judging by the disappointed expression which suddenly came across his face.

“Come into the office,” he said with a sigh and almost dragged the drunk man inside. Aramis wasn’t able to even start arguing in time and soon found himself in the office, swaying about. Perhaps the wine hadn’t been the best idea after all. He had no-idea where Treville had gone until the man reappeared with a chair and promptly made Aramis sit down onto it.

“Is it helping?” Treville asked as he moved around his desk and sat himself down also.

“Is what helping?” Aramis asked, now that his body was still his head swayed a little, he felt slightly dizzy and confused.

“The wine,” Treville answered with a slight grunt.

Aramis remained silent for a moment before answering with honesty, “Not really.”

Treville didn’t look surprised. He studied Aramis for a while, resting his elbows on his stomach he locked his fingers together. “They wanted to come after you but I ordered them to stay. I said that perhaps you needed some space. That was obviously the wrong decision.”

Aramis didn’t say anything. He suddenly felt foolish. Why was he even in the office? He couldn’t remember what he had wanted to speak to Treville about now. Instead he felt like a silly little boy who had stolen alcohol from his father’s drinks cabinet and had got caught.

“You’re finding it hard?” Treville suddenly asked. Aramis looked at him for a long while before trying to find words in his cloudy mind.

“Yes. Wouldn’t you?”

Treville didn’t answer the question directly, instead he just gave a shrug. “Five people died in the fire that day, Aramis, but many survived. Including you and the lady you went in to rescue. Perhaps, instead of thinking about what you have suffered, think about how you were spared.”

“Spared?!” Anger seeped up Aramis’ body from his toes right up to his head. “Spared so that I can look like this and be pitied?”

“You think that people pity you?” Treville asked, looking almost surprised at the allegation.

“I know you all do. I’ve seen how you look at me.”

“Yes we look at you, Aramis, but not with pity, with admiration.” Treville sounded almost angry in the way that he spoke. “The King asked me today if you were the Musketeer that went into the burning building to save someone. The Musketeer that survived when the roof caved in and covered him with burning wood. And do you know what else he said to me?” When Aramis didn’t speak Treville repeated the question. “Do you want to know what he said to me?” Aramis still didn’t open his mouth but Treville carried on regardless. “He said that he wanted you to do more duties at the palace. He said that he wanted people to see how brave his Musketeers were. Maybe I do feel a little sympathy for you, Aramis, because I know how hard it’s going to be for you coming to terms with your scars but what I feel the most isn’t pity....it’s pride. And, what’s more, it wouldn’t even matter to me how you got that scar because I’ll always be proud of you. It’s not what’s on the outside, it’s what is on the inside that makes a man. Perhaps that’s the real lesson you need to learn from all this.”

Aramis was so taken back by Treville’s tone and words that he still found himself speechless. There was a silence in the room for a long time as Aramis pondered over what had been said, letting it all seep in, trying to believe it all. Eventually Aramis pushed himself up in the chair slightly.

“I want to be punished for abandoning my post,” he eventually said.

Treville nodded, “You can clean all of the muskets in the armoury tomorrow once you’ve sobered up.”

Aramis silently accepted that as a punishment.

“Now go back to your room because the others will be looking for you,” Treville said and pulled out some papers from his desk drawer to read. Aramis nodded and got up, staggering out of the room. Once he was outside he finally let out a shaky breath. Treville was like a father figure to him and to hear how proud Treville was....it made him feel rather emotional. Or perhaps that was still the wine. And yet, despite everything Treville had said, Aramis was only able to go back to his room. He still couldn’t cope with being anywhere else.

Right outside his room he found Porthos waiting. The large man clearly wanted to embrace Aramis the moment he saw him but managed to hold back until they were both in the privacy of the bedroom. Then Porthos couldn’t hold back and he wrapped his arms around Aramis and pulled him towards his chest. Aramis didn’t protest. He pressed his cheek up against the familiar shoulder and allowed himself to relax in the warm arms. Before he knew what was happening he was being guided to the bed where his coat, hat and boots were removed. This time he wasn’t going to push Porthos away, he was too drunk to argue. His lover curled up in bed behind him, looking down and watching as Aramis closed his eyes to sleep. He could feel fingers in his hair, stroking it soothingly.

“I love you,” Porthos whispered and, whilst Aramis found himself unable to say the words back he did manage a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments always welcome


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Warning - This chapter has the red guards being pretty mean about Aramis' facial disfigurement. If that sort of things upsets you, please be careful when reading.]

Aramis found himself unsure if he appreciated the fact Captain Treville was easing him back into his duties gradually or if that just annoyed him. Annoyance was a feeling that he was experiencing quite often. All of the other musketeers were treating him differently. They were all being kind and patient when they once would have grumbled and snapped. How he longed for Athos to lose his temper with him, d’Artagnan to pester him into a sparring match or Porthos to tease him. Yet none of them did because they were being overly nice. Being nice didn’t feel right. Being nice wasn’t being honest. Aramis started to feel more isolated than ever despite the fact he was being offered nothing but warm faces and friendly gestures. Even his relationship with Porthos still didn’t feel right. Porthos was being patient. He wasn’t pushing Aramis at all, he was giving Aramis space and comfort. Only Aramis didn’t want space. He wanted Porthos to grab him and pin him down to the bed and ravish him just like he used to. Everything happening just seemed to make him feel more alone and it was alone that he spent most of his time if he could help it.

That was until d’Artagnan’s birthday. The boy was as excited as a puppy all day, despite the fact the day really was no different to any other considering they still had duties to perform. Although Athos had brought him some new boots which made d’Artagnan react like it was the best present he had ever received. Athos clearly didn’t know how to respond to the tight hug he received as a thank you. Aramis wondered if Athos truly knew how much he meant to young d’Artagnan. That evening they had all arranged to visit a tavern which d’Artagnan claimed to be his favourite as they served the best pork chops he had ever tasted outside of Gascony. Aramis had originally planned to make some excuse about feeling unwell but d’Artagnan’s infectious mood was rubbing off on Aramis a little and he didn’t have the heart to let the young man down. So they were soon all marching off to the tavern and Aramis only hesitated slightly when they reached the door. This was the first time Aramis had been out drinking since the accident and he didn’t feel very comfortable. A supportive hand on his back from Porthos encouraged him inside but, as soon as people started staring at his scars, he felt sick again. He tried to ignore the looks and sat at the table with the others where d’Artagnan immediately ordered four plates of pork chops.

Aramis tried to ignore everything around him including the noises and laughter, to concentrate on d’Artagnan who was telling them all stories about his birthdays as a child. It had taken d’Artagnan a long time to open up about his childhood and share memories of his parents, so Aramis felt privileged whenever d’Artagnan spoke of such things. Eventually the infamous pork chops arrived and Aramis suddenly understood what the Gascon lad had been harping on about, they were good pork chops. They all ate hungrily and finished their plates quickly. Athos ordered more wine, having drunk most of the first bottle himself. It was turning into a pleasant evening until Aramis heard a comment clearly spoken loud enough for him to hear.

“Maybe that’s what musketeers do when they’re hungry, they start cooking each other,” came the voice followed by laughter. Aramis tried to ignore it, focusing on his friends instead but his ears were now tuning into the voices.

“Half of his face is still decent. I suppose his whores would just have to close one eye.”

“Or he’d just pay them double.”

“Triple more like. I suppose he could take them from behind, which would solve the problem.”

“If that part of him even works. He might have burnt it off.”

Aramis let out a shaky sigh as his heart started beating loudly in his chest. He tried to ignore the laughter but he couldn’t help briefly glancing over at the table. Five red guards, he shouldn’t have been surprised, only red guards were arrogant enough to tease musketeers. He quickly looked away but they had spotted his gaze and it just seemed to fire them up for more banter now that they knew he was listening, clearly they were looking for a fight.

“He probably just bends over for his friends now. It’s the only way he can get any and we know musketeers aren’t fussy when it comes to that sort of thing.”

The expression of Athos’ face changed as he looked at Aramis. He had heard too. Aramis looked back for a moment before breaking the gaze and starting down at the table. It was one thing people saying unkind things to him but now they were dragging his friends into it. The other two still seemed oblivious, happily chatting to each other. Aramis could feel a red mist welling up from inside of him.

“They probably shove him face down against a table so they don’t have to look.”

“Maybe that’s how it happened in the first place. They were taking it in turns of fucking him around a camp-fire.”

The table of red guards broke out in laughter. That was it. Aramis stood up, his chair scraping against the stone floor as the back of his legs pushed it away. He immediately reached for the hilt of his sword and held onto it tightly as he stormed towards the red guards. They at least had the decency to look surprised although it wasn’t long before Aramis realised why. He wasn’t alone. The other three were right behind him, holding onto their own swords. They quickly all joined Aramis and the four of them stood side-by-side facing the red guards, fingers itching, just waiting for an excuse.

“My name is Aramis of the King’s Musketeers and you will take back everything you just said,” Aramis sneered at them.

“A..Aramis?” One of the guards stuttered and then their eyes darted across all of them. The four of them had a reputation, obviously one these men had heard of.

“Shit,” another one muttered but they weren’t sensible enough to back-down. The five men stood up and, before Aramis really knew what was going on, fists were flying, chairs were being smashed and an all-out brawl had started. Thankfully swords stayed out of it, it wasn’t that sort of fight. It was a dirty fight full of biting and kicking which carried on until the red guards were running out of the tavern bleeding and bruised, apart from the one which lay unconscious on the floor thanks to a well-timed punch from Porthos.

Aramis found himself laughing and, at first, he wasn’t even sure why. He was bleeding himself from a split lip and he was certain that he’d have a nice black eye in the morning but he felt alive. The most alive he had felt since his accident. In fact he couldn’t stop laughing. He laughed as he stood amongst the chaos of the broken tables, bottles and chairs. He laughed so hard that his stomach started to hurt and tears rolled down his cheeks. The other three noticed his laughter and smiled at him, Porthos coming over and wrapping a supportive arm around his shoulders.

“Who says that violence isn’t the cure for everything, huh?” he said with good humour. Aramis sighed when he was finally able to calm down.

“Take me home,” he asked and Porthos obliged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The next chapter is going to be longer and it's going to earn that M rating]


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aramis and Porthos finally sort things out.
> 
> [M rating chapter]

Once in the privacy of Aramis’ room, Aramis finally felt confident enough to talk to Porthos. Porthos was standing over him, busy trying to clean up the dried blood on Aramis’ face, being as tender as always.

“Do you still love me?” Aramis asked, looking up at Porthos from his position on the chair. The question made Porthos pause and he looked shocked.

“You know I do,” he said, seemingly hurt at the question.

“Yes…I do know you do,” Aramis said, flinching slightly as his bad choice in wording. “I mean….do you still think I’m handsome?”

“Aramis….” Porthos sunk down onto his knees in front of his lover. He dropped the wet cloth which he had been holding and held Aramis’ face between his large hands. “You’re just as beautiful to me now as you always were. More so in fact.”

“More so?” Aramis asked, uncertain how that could be the case. He searched Porthos’ eyes and found nothing but honestly there.

“A few weeks ago when you were lying there with bandages all over your face and I couldn’t even see your eyes, you reached out for my hand. And I held it and I couldn’t let go, even when you fell asleep. I saw there all bloody night long holding your hand. When Athos came in the following morning and raised an eyebrow at me in that way that he does when he isn’t sure if he entirely approves, I still couldn’t let go of your hand. It was then that I realised how much I loved you. How much I’ll always love you, whatever happens to either of us.” Aramis nodded and really wanted to speak but he found himself smiling instead. Porthos smiled back before continuing talking.

“You love me despite my scars, the colour of my skin, my lack of an education, my snoring……” he snorted in amusement as he described himself. “Why don’t you think that I love you for the same reasons?”

“I don’t snore,” Aramis pointed out which made Porthos glare.

“You know what I mean. I don’t love you because you’re pretty, although you still are. I love you because you’ve got a heart of gold somewhere deep inside that charming chest of yours.” Aramis snorted and his smile grew even wider. Porthos wasn’t often one for words which made Aramis appreciate everything he had just said even more. He threw himself off his chair and into Porthos’ arms. Porthos caught him and soon their lips were locked together and Aramis was kissing Porthos like his life depended on it. Porthos’ arms wrapped around Aramis and it wasn’t long before Aramis was being pulled to his feet and almost carried over to the bed, their lips not breaking even to catch their breath. Once Aramis was unceremoniously dumped onto the mattress their mouths did move apart and Aramis looked up at Porthos panting. Porthos smiled as he crawled onto the bed, leaning over his lover.

“See?” he asked although it wasn’t really a question. “Beautiful.” He smiled before lowering his lips and kissing Aramis again. Aramis was already fingering Porthos’ clothes and desperately trying to get them off. Weeks of needing this was already turning to frustrating for him. Porthos knew Aramis well enough to notice and he pulled his mouth away and placed his hands gently over Aramis’.

“Hey, calm down. We’ve got all night,” he said and started helping Aramis with the clothes. Together it didn’t take them long to get down to their bare skin. Porthos lowered himself onto Aramis and Aramis sighed in delight. Porthos was so heavy and warm. He wrapped his arms around Porthos’ back and clawed at the skin as he sought another kiss. Porthos indulged and soon Aramis felt the familiar warm tongue seeking entrance into his mouth. He sucked it in and moaned in delight. Porthos’ thigh was rubbing up against Aramis’ groin and it wasn’t long before he was pulling his mouth away to gasp as the blood rushed between his legs and he was getting hard. Porthos noticed and spread kisses across Aramis’ jaw until he found an ear.

“What do you need?” he whispered, his hand rubbing the warm stomach of his lover.

“You,” came the response which made Porthos chuckle.

“I was looking for more details.”

“I don’t care,” Aramis said, turning his face to look at Porthos. “I just want you.”

Porthos nodded like he seemed to know exactly what Aramis needed. He moved away slightly which made Aramis whimper and reach out to grip onto him. Porthos noticed and looked down at the man.

“It’s okay, I’m not going anywhere,” he said reassuringly. If Aramis’ behaviour was disturbing him, he wasn’t showing any signs of it. He liked Aramis being confident and arrogant but, if he was going to truly love Aramis like he claimed, then he needed to experience the more vulnerable side too. Porthos reached up for a feathered pillow and pulled it down. Aramis knew what that meant and he obediently lifted his hips up so that Porthos could place the pillow underneath the small of his back, knowing that it was for his hips once he rolled over. Porthos ran his hands down Aramis’ chest, exploring his other scars and the muscles of his body. Aramis waited patiently, all the while his cock getting harder at the thought of what was about to happen.

Porthos moved briefly once again to find some oil. Aramis started to twist to turn over but he suddenly felt a firm hand on his ribs.

“What are you doing?” Porthos asked. Aramis paused.

“Rolling over,” he said, it was usually how they did things.

“No,” Porthos shook his head and looked quite adamant that he didn’t want that. “Not this time. I want to look at you.” Aramis nodded a little and stayed on his back. Aramis watched as Porthos undid the bottle of oil and started pouring some onto his fingers but he reached out and grabbed Porthos’ wrist to stop him.

“I don’t want fingers first. I want you inside me,” Aramis insisted. Porthos looked unsure.

“We haven’t done this for a while, I don’t want to hurt you.”

Aramis shook his head. “I need to feel you. I want it to hurt a little. Please.”

Porthos still didn’t look too sure but he sighed and used the oil instead to slick up his erection. Aramis looked down at it and couldn’t help but lick his lips, remembering how good it felt when it was in his mouth. But tonight wasn’t the night for that. Porthos moved between Aramis’ legs and adjusted the pillow slightly so that it was helping Aramis be in the right position. Or at least the position he thought that they needed. They hadn’t ever done it this way before. Usually their sex was rough, raw and desperate. Bending each other over, pounding each other face first into the mattress. This time felt very different. Porthos bent Aramis’ legs a little until he could nestle his hips between them. Then he held onto the hilt of his cock and gently pushed it between Aramis’ arse cheeks. He knew that he had found the right spot when Aramis suddenly gasped and the head of his cock disappeared into something very tight and warm. Porthos groaned at the sensation but, despite Aramis’ pleas, he was going to be gentle.

“Fuck me,” Aramis begged and Porthos slowly pushed his way inside, as gently as he could manage. He felt tight muscles stretching and opening for him. Aramis was groaning so loudly that Porthos wasn’t sure if he was enjoying it or in pain, he suspected a little of both. But Aramis needed it so Porthos kept on pushing. After a while he seemed to slide in more easily and after another few seconds he was buried inside. He continued to look down at Aramis who was staring up at the ceiling, his pupils dilated, he was clearly in a state of ecstasy. Porthos waited for a while, wanting to make sure that Aramis was ready. Aramis didn’t even move at first, like he was too scared. But then he looked down at Porthos with a smile on his face which made Porthos smile back.

“Please, Porthos,” Aramis insisted and Porthos started to move, slowly at first. Just rubbing his cock up and down a couple of inches inside the incredibly tight arse. But, the more he did it, the more Aramis got used to it and relaxed. Soon Aramis felt a little less constricted and Porthos was able to start pumping his hips. He pulled his groin right back before shoving forward again, thrusting his cock up inside Aramis which made the other musketeer gasp. It wasn’t long before their bodies slapped together loudly as Porthos pumped his cock in and out. Each time Aramis groaned or gasped, which just drove Porthos on to do it harder. As Porthos grew more enthusiastic, he bent Aramis over more. Aramis’ legs seemed to naturally fall over Porthos’ shoulders and soon the bed was creaking as their bodies rocked up and down.

“Harder,” Aramis pleaded. “Faster.”

Digging his toes into the mattress, Porthos held firmly onto Aramis’ hips to try and keep him still as he started really going for it. Fucking Aramis furiously, pulling his cock away and slamming it back inside before Aramis would even have time to think. Over and over, again and again. Fucking the tight arse with loud grunts which could only be coming from Porthos as Aramis was too busy gasping and whimpering. Their bodies slamming together so loudly that Porthos was fairly certain that the musketeer in the next room would be-able to hear. He just hoped that the musketeer was too drink to be paying much attention.

Aramis was soon reaching up to grab the wall as Porthos started rocking his body towards it. He didn’t really want his head to be going through the wall but he didn’t want to ask Porthos to stop either. It felt so good being fucked so thoroughly once again. The next thing he knew Porthos was wrapping his big fingers around his cock and pumping frantically. That really undid Aramis and Aramis was soon screaming Spanish swear words in arousal before his whole body tensed painfully and then he finally succumbed and came. It was messy and violent, come exploded out of his cock and shooting all over Porthos’ hand and all over his own chest and stomach. He groaned as more and more spilled out, his body shivering with the release of tension. It was all it took for Porthos to go over the edge also. The sudden tensing of Aramis’ arse was enough to make him shoot his seed up inside the other man. He groaned out Aramis’ name until it was over and he collapsed down onto the younger man. They both lay there panting, trying to come round from the intense orgasms.

“Did Athos really look like he didn’t approve?” Aramis eventually asked once he could speak again, needing to know if Athos finding out was going to be an issue.

Porthos mumbled against Aramis’ shoulder, “I think it was more a concerned look. Like he’s worried I’m going to break your heart.”

“Break my heart?” Aramis snorted from his rather undignified position being squashed by Porthos. “If anyone is going to do any heart-breaking it’ll be me.”

“Oh yeah?” Porthos chuckled and lifted his head up to look down at his lover. “Is that so?”

“I have been noticing how handsome Captain Treville is recently,” Aramis pointed out with a rather sweet sigh added in for good measure. “And d’Artagnan has this cute way about him. Not to mention Constance….she’s really feisty.”

“You bastard,” Porthos said and started kissing Aramis to death.


End file.
